I was exhausted and relieved to come home Sunday evening, change into my pajamas, and sit down to a delicious dinner of blackened salmon, rice, and green beans, prepared by my culinarian husband. After dinner, we started in on another episode of our latest TV binge-watch project--The Wire. I was curled up on the couch, and, halfway through the episode, my husband decided to start giving some attention to my bottom.
Moments later, he paused the episode to which we were no longer paying attention, and pulled me over his lap for some harsher attention. With my pajama pants and underwear now down around my knees, he proceeded to use my bottom to warm up his cold hands.
Then, he asked if I was too tired, and I naively said "no."
"Go to the bedroom, and bring me back one implement. Come back in a minute." he said.
I plodded along to the bedroom, opened the closet door, and rooted through the bag of implements. I dug around, but wasn't finding any of the regulars...hmmm. They must be somewhere else. The handle of one caught my eye on his nightstand. I grabbed it just as he began a countdown in the living room.
"10...9...8...7...6."
Oh boy, he actually meant one exact minute. I broke into a trot, and arrived back at his side just in time! He pulled me over his lap and applied the sting of our little plastic spatula to my bottom cheeks. A short moment later, though, he stopped...
"Get me another implement. You have 45 seconds...GO!" he said.
Catching on to the game, I hurriedly trotted to the bedroom with my pants around my ankles (I was not allowed to pull them up), and began looking for my second favorite implement--our small, flat, wooden spatula.
"20 seconds, young lady," I heard from the living room.
It wasn't in the bag, it wasn't by the nightstand--where was it???
"10...9...8...7..."
I rooted through the bag of implements--everything looked either too big or too painful. I finally grabbed a splintered wooden ruler--broken years ago--that we never bothered to discard, and sprinted back to the living room.
I was 10 seconds late :( And my bottom paid for it--although, the ruler, being short and broken, was apparently not having the desired impact.
"Get me another one, 45 seconds...GO!" he said.
Once again, I ran into the bedroom, this time, grabbing a tiny wooden spoon at the bottom of our implement bag.
"This is cute," he said, when I presented it to him.
I went over his lap and received a few smacks with that one.
"This one cups your bottom nicely," he said. "Go get me something else, young lady...30 seconds," he said.
This time I thought I would be clever and bring back the previously used "favorite" plastic spatula, but, when I returned, he immediately told me to get something else in "20 seconds."
"You did not specify that I had to get a different one!" I complained.
"15 seconds," he replied.
Gah! This time, I developed an even cleverer plan, and came back with the entire contents of the implement bag. Ha!
I dumped the handful of spanking tools next to him on the couch, and over his lap I went so he could try them all out, which he did...briefly.
"Leave these here. Go get me another implement. You have 30 seconds," he said.
"WHAT?! We don't have anything else, I already brought them all!!" I cried.
"20 seconds," he said.
I sprinted to the bedroom, looked desperately around, and grabbed one of my ballet flat shoes in the closet.
"Very good, young lady; now you're being creative," he said, when I returned.
I did not like my choice, though, as soon as he started using it on my bottom. It really stung, and I squirmed all over his lap.
"Go get me another implement. You have 20 seconds," he said.
Now really, this was just getting out of hand. I sprinted to the room and looked around for his belt, but I have no idea where he had put it. I heard the ominous countdown from 10 begin in the living room, and I had nothing. I found it lying on the bed, of all places, and I arrived back at the couch just in the knick of 15 seconds late.
"You're late," he said. "Stand up and put your hands on the couch. You're getting one on each cheek for the number of seconds you were late," he announced.
I counted 15 painful smacks of the belt on each cheek, which was really more like both cheeks each time because...well, it's a belt.
The bun-smacking countdown with the belt was the blessed conclusion of my spanking sprint exercises, and I was more than ready to settle into his arms and finish the darn TV episode, but, alas, I was told to go get one more thing from the bedroom to help along our, shall we say, "cool down" activities :)
So, I did get in a workout after all this weekend. But it was not of my own accord, and it was to my husband's amusement, comfort and delight. A fun time for him, I'm sure!
OK...I had fun too.
